


One Thousand Degrees Below Freezing

by ravenously



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Antarctica, Body Horror, Established Relationship, M/M, shiver skin
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-20
Updated: 2016-12-30
Packaged: 2018-09-10 14:41:46
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8921059
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenously/pseuds/ravenously
Summary: Three years after the disappearance and presumed death of Gabriel Reyes, Jack Morrison's husband, Jack begins to see and experience strange, odd occurrences during the construction overhaul of the Amundsen-Scott South Pole Research Facility in the autumn of 1975. Is it truly Gabe? Or is Jack slowly letting his grief consume him?





	1. Breathe

**Author's Note:**

> Please come find me at [Tumblr.](http://tonycurtis.tumblr.com)
> 
> This is heavily inspired by a Discord chat me and [The Lovely Ze](http://tarantulaporn.tumblr.com) had, where we essentially plotted out the entire body-horror inspired concept. So, without further ado, here's the strange child that's reminiscent of The Thing/The Babadook. This one might be a long one, kiddos, so buckle in.
> 
> But no, seriously, come pester me on [Tumblr.](http://tonycurtis.tumblr.com) I don't bite. Much. 
> 
> In the Autumn of 1975, the old Pole of the Amundsen-Scott station was finally abandoned , and construction on the new Dome began. As such, our veterans- Most notably, Jack, Jesse and a few others- are just 'helping' with some of the construction. 
> 
> Jamesways, which are the living conditions that the specialists and construction workers of the base will be in, look mostly like [This.](https://ksblog.files.wordpress.com/2007/01/j-9.jpg). From my research, they were heavily used until like 1976~ or so because they kept lighting on fire. Fuckin' whoops. But the important part, setting wise, is that their regulation of heat isn't enough, in the Antarctic weather, to keep them at room temperature. They're always gonna be cold. So no matter what, everyone, everyone is cold here.

The sun glared off the completed portions of the Dome; with nothing but the ever-present sun to cast any light on the world, the entire landscape held a colorless, sun-bleached quality to it that made Jack blink his eyes rapidly, whenever he accidentally caught its rays.

Perhaps the worst thing, amid the Antarctic cold and chill, was that Jack still managed to feel heated sweat drip into the fabric of his coat; the constant combination of heat from overexertion and the freezing, frigid temperatures did nothing but cause migraine after migraine.

Already, he could feel the slowly creeping bursts of pain, starting behind his eyes and travelling backwards into his skull. It didn’t help that the only reprieve from the sun, who would be up for another four months of the year, was to go inside the barely-heated Jamesway that did little to regulate the temperature that Jack’s body clearly needed.

He sat back, wiping a hand across his brow. The construction of the new facility was good work, numbing as the snow, and would herald a new era for the Amundsen-Scott Station. He couldn’t let his grouses about the _sun_ and his _head_ keep him from being able to make himself useful.

They’d had construction workers brought in to start the new construction, but Jack had a team. Sure, they might technically be specialists, around since before the Old Pole was demolished, but that didn’t make them any less useful.

Jack glanced up at the partially-constructed dome, starting his descent when he verified that the workers were making good time. There was one of the Shimada’s, a set of two, who Jack had barely spoken to (Fareeha had told him he was just “a tinge too snotty, Morrison. Might wanna stay away for the sake of your mood.”), and a few of the rest of the new crew hammering away at the necessary components to keep the structure vertical.

He slid to the ground, boots crunching into the ice and snow, and let his hood fall to his shoulders. He’d have to put it back up in a few minutes, but for now, the freezing air touching his neck was a balm to his growing headache. He tried to shield his eyes from the sun, and as a result, nearly rammed into Jesse, who had evidently made up a little camp among the food and water. Jack just sighed in lieu of an apology, and sat down across from him.

“Shit, Boss,” Jesse said, when he registered who it was who was sitting there. He drew in one last heavy breath of smoke from the cigarette he was smoking and then put it out in the snow. He handed Jack a canteen of water as he tried to hastily put the cigarette into a pocket of his parka.

Jack merely raised his brow when Jesse handed him the water, too tired to engage in another round of ‘you know how bad smoking is, especially here.’ If the kid wanted to kill himself faster, then so be it. He took a drink of the warm water and gestured with a thumb at the construction. “Too tired to help out?”

“‘M on break, old man. We’re hardly even supposed to be working on this thing, remember?” He leaned backwards, and, even in a huge coat, hat, gloves, the whole outfit, Jack couldn’t see anyone but the kid he used to be. In some awful cowboy hat, leaning at a table in the Old Pole, the wide, raucous laughter that only ever happened after one of Gabe’s jokes.

Jack sniffed, and gave a one shoulder-shrug.  He really didn’t care enough to micromanage Jesse right now, not without copious amounts of aspirin and a stiff drink. Even so, Jesse eventually stood up, flipping his hat back on his head, and sighed, mumbling something about ‘getting back to work, your highness,’ and Jack was left alone.

There was something uniquely peculiar about choosing to live in the most Southern tip of the Earth, an invasive sense of seclusion that, despite who comes to visit, or what new workers and scientists worked there, never went away. This feeling was only doubled when radioing in to mainlands, talking with the rest of the world and getting caught up on what the rest of society was accomplishing.

Jack took another long, slow drink from the canteen, and looked out, over the horizon. There’d been less snow this year, but it was still a veritable blanket that covered the ground, leeching out until it met the dull blue sky. The fingers of the sun reached down to suck even that small color away from the landscape. Jack pulled his hood back on, and was about to stand up, get back to work, when he felt movement in his peripheral.

He twisted, overcompensating for the fur of his hood, and squinted against the light, lifting a gloved hand and pressing it to his forehead. And--

There. About a hundred yards out, a dark figure against the white landscape. Too far away to be doing anything for the Station, just… Standing there.

Jack stood up trying to figure out who this was. The black coat was familiar; cut and slimmed and framing the figure in a way that gave off a cocky disposition, an outline that Jack fell in love with, once. The figure wasn’t moving; it was just a black coat that seemed to stare in mockery at Jack. The red gloves gave it away.

_Gabe._

An impossible set of emotions washed over him, each more vibrant and full of life than the previous. Hope, despair, confusion, longing. Love.

Jack sucked in a breath he didn’t know he held and took a few steps before he realized it. He needed to confront this person, see if it was really him. He hoped-- oh, he could only _hope_ , hope in ways he hasn’t dared to in years, and if it was him, he could--

Could what? Jack stopped, and put a hand to his mouth, feeling his breath against the thick blue gloves for a few seconds as he thought. Could realize that he was still alive? Impossible. It’d been three years. Jesse was more likely to quit smoking than for a dead man to be walking in the Antarctic.

He shut his eyes tight, and when he opened them, the figure was gone.

It was stupidity. Madness, maybe. The summer months must really be getting to him. Jack dropped the hand from his mouth and stared at the spot where the figure was for a moment longer before turning around, walking stiffly back to the construction site. His snow-crunch of his boots echoed to no one's ears but his own.

\----

Jack opted not to tell anyone about the figure he saw. The absolute last thing he needed was to get more looks of pity and unearned sympathy, people treating him like it was only a matter of time before he went as crazy as an old senile person.

No one asked why he was somehow even more somber all night, assuming it was one of his moods. The new crew was used to it; they barely tried to talk to Jack other than to confirm construction plans or the necessary information for the base. Everyone who did know him knew better than to pry.

Except Jesse.

Jack was finishing a bowl of stew and his third glass of whiskey when the man slid across from him, eyes not meeting Jack’s as though he knew better. Because he did.

Jesse looked at the bowl, and drawled, “Stew got you down or somethin’, boss?” He leaned back in the chair; it was obvious he was trying to appear less nervous than he was. They had never been close, Jesse and Jack, but after everything had gone down with Gabe… Even the smallest connection they’d had together was gone. Each of them grieved in different ways, and when they got back out of the slump that Gabe’s death caused, it was as though an icy wall had been thrown up between them. They could see each other, but could barely speak without worry of something, everything, crashing down.

Jack finished the glass of whiskey and let the tumbler clack against the table when he set it down. “Stew’s fine. Can assure whoever made it--”

“Torbjörn, I think--” Jesse interrupted, and looked away again when he saw the thinly veiled impatience on Jack’s face.

“--That it’s fine.” Jack paused and tried to meet Jesse’s gaze again, replacing impatience with a steely look. He let the silence hang in the air, as thin as it was outside. “I’m fine.”

The hall wasn’t as noisy as one would think. Most of the workers were tired, and the specialists and scientists just generally weren’t a rambunctious bunch, anyways. The summer months were always, somehow, more depressing than the winter ones; the sun being out at all hours of the day somehow made a sombering atmosphere that even the days bathed in nothing but moonlight couldn’t compare to.

Jesse looked at him for a moment, then leaned forward slowly, like he really wasn’t sure what he was doing. He rubbed at his face, smoothing down the unkempt hair of his beard, attempting to control the strands that never seemed to want to lie with the rest. “You know-- You know I’m here, right? If you ever need--”

“If I ever need what? Someone’s shoulder to cry on? Need to ‘let it all out?’ I’m _fine_ , Jesse.” He thought back to the way the red gloves curled against the figure’s side, relaxed and, more importantly, alive. Jack wanted more than anything to be able to hold those hands, to feel their pulse again. To watch the stark way in which the red outshone the rest of the landscape around them, were a fixated point to cherish, to remember, to love.

Maybe his expression gave it away. Jesse looked at him with pity. “You don’ have to. I’m jus’ saying. I’m here. You’ve been getting further and further away, old man. Isolatin’ yourself down here ain’t gonna do you much good.”

Did he see Jack nearly walk into the tundra earlier that day?

“I’m fine, Jesse.” With that, he stood up and walked away, dumping his empty bowl into the sink on the way out. He ignored the looks of anyone who was curious and worried about one of their senior specialists leaving dinner early.

\----

It took another week to see the figure again.

Construction continued, and Jack pretended it never happened; he let it fall to the back of his mind like the nightly dreams he had, begging to be forgotten. Jesse left him alone, except to ask him about the job at hand. Everyone else did the same, and Jack almost fell back into the routine of not having enough time to himself to let any wayward thoughts or emotions creep in.

It happened one evening while he’s sitting outside the Jamesway, letting the cool air hit his face for a few minutes before he cooped himself inside the stale-aired bunker.

He looked out over the horizon until the lines between sky and glacier disappeared, eyes going hazy from lack of focus, when he saw a black figure crest one of the hills and glide ever closer.

Jack stood. Maybe it wasn’t a hallucination the first time. Maybe- Maybe it was something real. The figure came closer, and after a moment’s hesitation, Jack started walking towards it too. The wind was howling, rushing in his ears, as though in warning, or in harmony. He couldn’t tell.

The first thing he noticed, as the apparition came closer, was its eyes. They were Gabe’s eyes, Brown and warm but... Off, somehow. Like the brown had been faded into something covered in frost. Other than that- Other than that, though, and he was--

It was _Gabe_. Not just the coat. But his face. His stance. His expression. Jack let out a noise that he didn’t know he’d been holding in, perhaps since his death. His mind seemed to slow down, looking into his face, and he reached out automatically, before pulling back, taking a step backwards. 

This couldn’t be. And yet it was; Gabriel Reyes, in the flesh, looking at him with the same soft look he had reserved only for Jack, and even then, rarely.

Gabe’s face was paler than usual, obviously struck by the cold of the weather. With his hood down, and no hat, he should be even colder than he looked, and yet… He seemed comfortable. Unaffected. Jack stepped up to him, and felt his own heart beating in a rhythmic drum beat. The soundtrack to the Antarctic.

“I need to show you something.” Gabe said, and his voice was soft, free from the stress and anxiety that he used to have, free from the righteous anger that sometimes underlined each and every one of his words. His voice was like a lullaby and Jack looked up at him, staring into his eyes.

Jack wasn’t stupid; something was wrong. Gabe was supposed to be dead. Gabe wouldn’t just come back after three years of nothing, nothing. Couldn’t. But-- But he didn’t care. Here he was, in the flesh, and all Jack could think about was burying his face in Gabe’s neck and never leaving his side. The smile on Gabe’s face grew.

His hand reached outwards to Jack, gloved in crimson red that matched the pounding in Jack’s chest.

He looked at the outstretched hand, and all he could see was red. “Come on,” Gabe said, and smiled in a way that Jack had been dreaming of for three years. His smile was, somehow, brighter than all of their surroundings, brighter than the ever-present sun.

Jack took his hand, and felt warmth for the first time in years.


	2. Collapse

It was impossible to track how long they had been walking; in the Antarctic hell of the South Pole, the sun’s constant presence barely moved through the sky. Even if it was possible, Jack was so immediately lost in watching Gabe, looking at their hands linked together, looking at the way the sun shone on his beautiful, alive face, that he wouldn’t have noticed any time passing at all.

Gabe was a quiet companion as it was, which was new. Sure, sometimes he had been quiet, but Gabe used to get heated up to the point of hours, _hours_ of ranting, of yelling, heated discussion, a quality that Jack had always loved; he was much the same way.

The team used to joke about it-- If one of them was hollering about something or another, it was often Jesse or Fareeha’s job to keep the other away, lest the entire team have to be subjected to _two_ passionate voices. Now, of course, the halls of the facility were empty, and once the Dome was completed and the Old Pole was buried under meters of snow, any echoes of their voices would be lost to the Antarctic depths.

Jack didn’t care about Gabe’s sudden quietness, though; Gabe could be as quiet as he wanted. Gabe could be anything, do anything, and Jack wouldn’t mind. Breathing was enough.

When they stopped, all Jack knew is that he couldn’t see the Station anymore. Around them, the snow was a silent observer.

The wind was oddly calm; without it, the entire landscape seemed to be holding its breath, waiting, waiting--

“I want to hold your hand.” Gabe said, and before Jack could interrupt and say their hands were already linked, Gabe slowly started to strip Jack’s gloves off.  “Not the fabric of your gloves.” He amended.

The shock of the cold air hitting his flesh was far more than just a mild winter chill. The warmest it got in the South Pole was a measly ten degrees. The second Gabe took the gloves from his hands, Jack felt a deep, all-encompassing shiver take hold of his body.

Gabe, for his part, immediately wrapped his still-gloved hands around Jack’s, shielding him from the elements, however slightly. This made Jack shiver again, this time not from the cold, but from the intimacy. Gabe was close enough to feel, and though he let off little to no heat, Jack could still feel his breath, gliding against his face like a soft reminder. _I’m here, again._

He wasn’t as warm as he had been, the first time they’d touched. Gabe wasn’t quite cold, but neither was he the warm, furnace of a man he used to be. While his fingers became numb, stiff, he could only think of early mornings when the bed had been warm and Gabe had pressed against Jack’s side, limbs splayed like an octopus. Whereas Jack had always been a stiff sleeper, falling asleep and waking up in the same position if left untouched, he’d always loved how much Gabe moved in his sleep, as though his restless nature were still wreaking energetic havoc even while the man slept.

It was too cold to breathe in Gabe’s scent, but Jack could almost smell him anyways, lost in his memory of Gabe waking up to slide against him, mouth against his neck, his chin, his lips, foul morning breath still the more precious than anything Jack had in his life now.

He let himself lean in closer and closer to Gabe, until the man was holding him up more than Jack was standing on his own.

Gabe slowly pushed against him, hands still clasped firmly around his own while he urged Jack to kneel in the snow. Jack felt his mind grow hazy, almost, icy, as though small crystals of snow were forming in the recesses of his mind. The sharp crunch as the top icy layer of snow fell through almost mimicked the stiff stab that rushed through Jack’s legs; he was getting too old for this kind of thing. Still, he couldn’t help but stare at Gabe and his face, watching as his gorgeous, gorgeous _, familiar_ eyes seemed to lose some of their hue, looking icier and icier with each passing moment.

In some rational, closed off part of his brain, Jack knew, already, that this wasn’t-- couldn’t be-- Gabe. That Gabe would never come back, and couldn’t come back, because he was dead. Dead, dead _dead_ as a doornail. As dead as Jack was going to be, were he to stay out here for long.. He shifted, and a small whine bled from his throat, knees protesting any movement now that they were numb in the snow.

“....I have missed you, Jack. I’m sorry I have been gone for so long.” His voice was stiff, and lower than it used to be, like he was trying to push air out of a throat that didn’t want to make any sound.

Jack watched, mute, as Gabe slowly took his gloves off and let the red fabric fall to the ground, looking more like bloodied leaves in the winter than agents of warmth and safety. He wanted nothing more than for Gabriel to hold him and touch him, forever.

Gabe lifted his chin with one of his hands, the fingers longer, almost sharper than they were before. His eyes couldn’t focus, and he didn’t know if his nails were just sharp or if it were his actual fingers. If Jack weren’t going crazy, he’d say that his husband had been morphing into something not quite _Gabe_ the entire journey into the tundra.

The wind had picked up, and as it blew into Jack’s unprotected face, he felt his eyes well up. Maybe it wasn’t just the wind; sure, it was a wonderful excuse, but looking into Gabriel’s face just made the tears come quicker, fatter.

His husband-- Gabe-- This _creature_ \-- caressed his cheeks and swiped a tear from Jack’s freezing face. The tear had already nearly frozen in the time it took to fall from his eyes and slide down his cheek.

“There is no need to cry, Jack.” The man said as he licked the tear from the tip of his finger. He smoothed the hand across Jack’s forehead, slowly letting his woolen cap slide off of his skull and fall into the snow below. His fingers, where they dug into his scalp, spreading through his hair, pierced through the numbness to flash glaring pain down Jack’s spine. More tears welled up, and he closed his eyes, seeking the numbness of the cold again.

He only opened them when Gabe pulled his hand away. His vision was blurry; the tears seemed to have frozen against his lashes and the bottom lid, and the neverending landscape of white on white on white on white, was making it incredibly difficult to focus. If he didn’t go inside, soon, he’d become snowblind.

The snowflakes in his mind coalesced into shard of ice, digging deep in his thoughts. With every small stroke of Gabriel’s hand, Jack felt himself get further lost to the snow and ice, and soon enough, he wasn’t certain he wanted to get up. He wasn’t sure he could.

Eventually, Jack broke through the numbness enough to see that Gabe was crouching in front of him. He had lost the black coat, and looked skinny, skinnier than Jack had ever known him. The black thermal, once fitted to his skin, now seemed to drape over his frame.

It didn’t make sense, it really didn’t, even if logically, Gabriel would have lost weight in the snowy desert. Maybe he did, he must have, because he was here, and he was alive, and of course he’d be different, of course--

Jack blinked and tried to look through his icy lashes when Gabe took him under the chin again. His eyes no longer held any semblance of the warm brown he used to know. He couldn’t even see a pupil. Instead, Gabe’s eyes seemed to glow an icy hue that shimmered and bounced off the sun’s rays, combining into a cold glare that would have made Jack’s blood run cold if it weren’t already freezing.

“I need you to stay here.” He said, quietly, and slowly, every so slowly, leaned forward to brush his lips against Jack’s forehead. He felt a shiver run through him and he sighed, longing for more touch, wishing for more, more, more. A confirmation that Gabriel would stay, too.

Gabriel leaned down and kissed his lips. Jack’s were so numb he would be surprised if they weren’t blue already; as it was, he barely felt the press of his lips. Instead, the ice in his mind solidified, and he knew he needed to stay here, needed to wait for Gabriel’s orders. Needed to listen, and belong, and relinquish his warmth.

He could barely move his lips, so he gave Gabe a look that promised, promised him he’d listen, instead. Gabriel smiled, and slowly stood up, putting on the rest of his outerwear. Black coat, his hat, his hood. Finally, he picked up the red gloves from the snow and slid them over his hands, curling them against his body.

“I will return. Do not move from this spot.” His voice was a gravel, more like the sound of icebergs colliding against each other than the sound of his husband, but the tone soothed him anyways.

As Jack watched Gabe walk away into the tundra without blinking, his vision slowly, slowly slid away as more of Gabriel’s ice took him over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come bother me and talk to me on [Tumblr](http://tonycurtis.tumblr.com). I'm fun, and only 53% evil.


End file.
